


The Glorious Instinct of Life

by islasands



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:14:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islasands/pseuds/islasands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lone snow wolf is ranging through the forest. It is nearing the end of winter. </p><p>My new series of Adam fics starts here. </p><p>The music is Claude Debussy's Syrinx for solo flute. It is played here by Emmanuel Pahud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Glorious Instinct of Life

"Syrinx for Solo Flute"

 

Emmanuel Pahud

 

 

  


 

 

 

The wolf stood still beside the frozen lake. Behind him the snow was already filling his footprints. He shook himself to disperse the flakes landing on his back. He was tired. The last mile of his journey had been through deep drifts into which he had sunk right up to his neck. He had pressed forward, pausing now and then to sniff the air. His nose was his navigator, it led him forward and back in both terrain and time. Thus he could smell the dead vegetation buried in the frozen earth as well as the budding new shoots gathering strength for the coming of spring. He could smell the darkness of the pine forests nearby and the faint odour of the resin shunting slowly in their veins. He could smell the stench of a carcass, preserved by snow, about three miles south, and to the east, at a greater distance, perhaps ten miles, he could smell the fresh, sweet smell of a caribou's behind.

Now he was standing on the snow-iced pancake stones beside the lake. He listened to the tinkling of water, the snapping of branches, the sudden sliding of snow falling from banks into the lake. A bird flew overhead and he looked up. He blinked at the soft flurry of snow that drifted onto his face. This kind of snow was winter's goodbye. He laid down and put his head on his paws. He rolled over and exposed his belly fur to the snow. His paws hung in the air. He yawned with hunger. He jumped up and shook himself again. He sat down. He waited. After a while he decided to do some howling. He put his head back and closed his eyes. He howled for the absence of friends. He howled for the loss of his mate. He howled for the genitalia of the new one he would soon acquire. He howled for the lengthening of the days that lay ahead. He howled for the melting of ice, the shedding of snow, the falling of icicles. He howled for the stomach of the sky that was as empty as his own. He howled for the heavy body of the earth that was too cold, as yet, to turn over. He howled for the passing of winter. And he howled for the soon to arrive spring.

It was a good howling session. He picked his way along the lakeside until he came to a place where the bank rose up and bent over, concealing a low cave in its side. The floor and ceiling of the cave were of rock. He had slept here before and he sniffed around to see who else had taken shelter there but there were no recent smells. He curled up and fell asleep and while he slept he dreamed. His body twitched. His ears twitched. He was chasing something. In truth, asleep or awake, he was always chasing something. 

By the time the moon came out he was ready to rejoin the pack. He stood outside the cave and stretched. He took a deep appreciative sniff of the moonlight. Everything smells different, smells better, in moonlight. Even snow has a different fragrance. He basked for a while, enjoying the swamp like smell of his body's warmth meeting the cold air. He set off. For the most part his footsteps were silent but here and there the snow had been hardened by moonlight and his tread made crunching sounds that set his teeth on edge. Quite suddenly, the exuberance of hunger awoke within him and he began to run. He wanted his comrades. He wanted food. He wanted the opportunity to mate. He breathed hard as he ran and when he paused at the edge of a steep decline he let his tongue hang out and stood there, slavering in the moonlight, the glorious instinct of life bubbling in his saliva. 

 

 


End file.
